


Save Thyself

by Trobadora



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Episode: s10e12 The Doctor Falls, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Missing Scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 12:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17787506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trobadora/pseuds/Trobadora
Summary: Trusty old laser. That thing can stopregeneration. It's a glorious weapon, really.





	Save Thyself

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Prix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prix/gifts).



Missy doesn't remember this instant, not yet - won't, until she's out of the tangle of crossed timelines. She watches avidly as her younger self points his screwdriver at the Doctor.

Trusty old laser. That thing can stop _regeneration_. It's a glorious weapon, really - all the more for the mockery it makes of the Doctor's screwdriver, which he refuses to call a weapon, even if he does treat it like one when it suits him.

The Doctor's stricken face contorts. The Master doesn't get to fire, not even in threat: they're wrestling now. Missy enjoys the show for little while, but her eyes are on the screwdriver.

He wouldn't, not now. They're not done yet. And still ...

They'll never be done, the Doctor and the Master. She'll never let them be done. They're a pair, the two of them, matchless otherwise. But she knows what her younger self is feeling, what _she_ has always felt, no matter when or where they were or how they stood with each other, whether they were kissing or trying to kill each other or both: if the Doctor is worth the Master's attention, he won't die. (He is.) If he dies, he wasn't worth it. (But he is.) 

Still, she doesn't _actually_ want him dead just now.

She's not worried. This is her past; this is herself the Doctor is grappling with, and she's not worried.

But she knocks the Doctor aside with her umbrella, all the same.

  


* * *

  


Through the hallways, heading for the roof. They've put the Doctor in a wheelchair, grinning at each other, and Missy spins it around, for old time's sake. The younger Master takes the handles from her for another spin. They're on the move.

The door to the staircase is locked. While her younger self is still scowling, she snatches the laser screwdriver from his grasp, fires it, and tosses it back at him. He lets out a growl.

"What?" she snaps, winking at him. "You were being slow."

Sparks are still flying from the broken locking mechanism. She twirls through them, special effects made just for her. And her own younger eyes gleam in appreciation.

  


* * *

  


They let the cyberman - the one who thinks it's Bill - carry the Doctor up the stairs, because of course the Master won't, not either of them. Not if they don't have to, and they so rarely do.

And then the Doctor is waking up.

It's fun, playing with him. It's thrilling, having him there, tied up and hurting - in body, in spirit, in heart - as Missy dances with her younger self.

"Kiss me," she says to the Master, to herself. Wouldn't that be something for the Doctor to watch?

But she can see it in the Master's eyes: he underestimates her. The Master underestimates the Master - that has to be a first. She doesn't like it.

  


* * *

  


Two hearts: the Doctor, the idiot, has made Time Lords into targets. Cybermen are closing in from all sides.

Her younger self shouts at the Doctor: the Master, lashing out. Missy knows how he feels. She can feel it burn through her, that memory, that feeling.

The Master fires; a cyberman's chest throws sparks; a cyberman falls. Another one takes its place. The Doctor looks at them both in vicious, unhappy triumph. 

Shouting won't solve this. More blasts from the laser screwdriver won't solve this. _He_ won't solve this, because he knows what it would take, and he won't work with the Doctor. 

Missy lifts her umbrella, and knocks her younger self out.

The Doctor grasps her hand, won't let go. Something inside her chest aches, her heartsbeat out of synch. In two minds, in two hearts. 

She pulls her hand away. It's just that she's got _plans_ , and she won't let anyone ruin them, not even herself.

  


* * *

  


The Doctor screams. A cyberman's arms wrap around him, electrocuting him. Missy picks up the Doctor's fallen screwdriver, but it's Cyber-Bill who steps in first.

She looks down at her hand. Her past self's screwdriver earlier; the Doctor's now. Truthfully, she prefers her own umbrella.

  


* * *

  


Time moves along. Weeks pass. That's how it goes: the past becomes the present; the present becomes the future. That incarnation becomes this one; that body regenerates into this. No matter how much her younger self bristles: he'll become Missy, in the end.

In front of the elevator doors, Missy puts her arms around him, and makes a choice. A little bit sooner, a little bit later, does it matter? It'll happen either way; she's just nudging it along.

Nudging it along with a gentle knife.

And it _is_ gentle, this particular blade. She can be gentle, and for him she will be. 

If she'd ever killed the Doctor for good, it would have been gentle, too. She wouldn't have let it happen in a fury, and without her full will.

Now she'll stand with him instead. It won't accomplish much - it's barely a gesture, really - but they'll stand together, for once, and save those silly little Mondasians of his. For another little while.

  


* * *

  


The laser screwdriver's energy beam hits her square in the back. Her younger self has fired on her. He's _killed_ her, probably, just as she killed him. Missy should have seen it coming.

A snort breaks from her lungs. It's perfect, isn't it? The two of them, too much _the Master_ in the end to let someone else win, even if that someone is their own self. It's him; it's her. He's taunting her, and she can't even be angry.

She won't stand with the Doctor, after all: she's dying. Without hope, without witness, without reward. 

Missy remembers, and smiles.

  


* * *

  


_The door is locked. She snatches the laser screwdriver from her younger self's grasp, and fires._

_And because he can't be trusted - of course he can't; he's the Master - just in case, before she tosses it back, she flips a few connections._

_A dead Doctor - all right. Been there, done that. But not one beyond regeneration; that's just not sporting. That's not what you do to a friend, even if you_ are _the Master. Even if your friend is proving singularly unappreciative of all you've done for him._

 _The Doctor_ is _her friend, along with everything else, and if he ever dies, it will be by_ her _choice, not by her past's impulsive reaction. It will be a worthwhile plan, not a moment's blind burning fury._

_That's all; no other reason. Why would there be?_

_She grins to herself, even as she dances through the glory of destruction. The Doctor wants to save her so badly, save her from herself - but she's the one saving him now._

  


* * *

  


Missy is dying. After everything: the Doctor stopped an execution, committed to watching her for a thousand years, stayed in place for her. Mostly, at least. Didn't cheat too badly. But here they are: she's dying after all.

Of course, so is he, isn't he? Some distance away, just as alone.

She's not too worried. If anyone can, he'll manage: he'll regenerate in the end, and find some way out of this. He always has before.

But what of her? The Mistress? Hit by a full blast from a laser screwdriver that can kill a Time Lord so dead, their cells won't even remember how to regenerate?

 _If_ she hadn't flipped those connections earlier, to prevent just such a thing. Not for herself: for the Doctor.

The Doctor didn't save her. She didn't save the Doctor. The Doctor didn't even save himself. But somehow, bizarrely, _she's_ saved herself by trying to save _him_.

Missy laughs, and laughs, and laughs, until she falls.


End file.
